


Perchance To Dream

by Walutahanga



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, OT3, Porn With Plot, Smut, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 07:26:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4295880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walutahanga/pseuds/Walutahanga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where a different person died on the island, Shado and Slade comfort Oliver. Sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perchance To Dream

**Author's Note:**

> The mildly dubious consent tag is there because a character initiates sex with another that the other initially isn't into, but changes their mind. I figured I should put that in the tags, just in case that's something you'd prefer to avoid.

The Amazo was finally quiet. After hours of fighting, the only sound was the steady chug of the engines pulling away from the island.

Oliver still couldn’t relax. Even though Ivo's crew was dead, part of him still expected things to go wrong. He roamed the darkened hallways of the ship, bow in hand. If the former prisoners saw him, they shied away or pretended not to see him. Anatoly was the only one not afraid of him, and eventually even he kicked Oliver out of the engine room.

“You go see pretty girl in the hood. She and big man are in Ivo’s quarters.”

“I don't want to interrupt them.” Even though Oliver had been expecting Slade to make a move on Shado for a while (even subtly indicated his approval) it still stung.

Anatoly snorted.

“You interrupt nothing they not want interrupted. Pretty girl looking for you, send the big man to find you soon.” He made a face at the idea. “I say, not make the big man come looking, yes? It seems bad idea.”

All the men were on edge around Slade, after what he’d done to the crew, but Oliver didn’t have the energy to defend him. It even occurred to him that it might be a good idea to keep the former prisoners on edge, to discourage any ideas of another mutiny. Not all the prisoners had been innocent people.

He wandered the ship for another hour before a shadow appeared in his peripheral vision.

“What the hell are you doing, kid?” Shado sounded annoyed, but not in the on-edge way that was so dangerous of late. He sounded almost like his old self, when the worst thing he might do was smack Oliver round a little while sparring.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Oliver says tiredly.

“It looks like you haven’t eaten or slept or had that arm seen to.”

Oliver frowned at that last one.

“There’s nothing wrong with my– ” He yelped as Slade suddenly had his arm twisted behind his back at an angle that had Oliver up on his toes trying to relieve the pressure. “ _Slade_!”

“Walked right into that one, kid,” Slade said in his ear. “Through here.” He frog-marched Oliver down the corridor and up a flight of narrow stairs.

Oliver swore at him, but to tell the truth, this bullying was reassuring in a weird kind of way. A little rougher than Slade used to be, but then again, this was the guy that once jammed a gun in Oliver’s face to motivate him, so probably not _that_ much rougher. An indication that Mirakuru or not, it was still Slade in there. 

At Ivo’s cabin, Slade let go of his arm but only to set a big hand in the middle of Oliver’s back and propel him inside the cabin.

Shado had already made her mark on the room. The creepy science stuff had been tossed into a pile in the corner except for a few medical text books. The furniture had been subtly re-arranged to align to her tidy sense of cleanliness. The bed looked freshly made up. Shado was sitting at the table, wearing a man’s shirt over her own pants. Her hair was damp like she’d just had a shower and there was an open book on her lap.

“Oliver,” she said reprovingly. “You look exhausted.”

“I’m fine,” Oliver said, vaguely aware that he was swaying ever so slightly on his feet. He forced himself to stand still.

“When was the last time you slept?”

Oliver thought about it, but couldn’t say for certain. He hadn’t been able to sleep much the night before, too busy thinking about their upcoming attack on the Amazo. Shado didn’t press him for answers, just pulled out a chair.

“Sit down and have some dinner.”

The door behind Oliver screeched shut as Slade locked it, and Oliver resigned himself to not going anywhere. He wearily shrugged off the quiver and set it with the bow by the door. He sat down at the table and Shado set a plate in front of him. He picked up a fork but had no appetite. Despite not eating since yesterday, the food looked utterly unappetizing.

“Eat,” Shado urged. “Just a few mouthfuls.”

Oliver speared a chunk of potato. It was dry and flavourless in his mouth, and he had to force himself to chew and swallow. While he ate, Slade fetched a bottle and glasses from the next room.

“Ivo kept the good quality stuff for himself,” he said, pouring them a glass each. Oliver noted his own was bigger than the others.

“Trying to get me drunk?”

“Trying to get you to _rest_ , kid.”

Oliver didn’t want to rest – every time he closed his eyes he saw Sara’s face – but maybe Slade had got the right idea. Maybe if he got drunk he wouldn’t have to think about it. He picked up the glass and gulped half of it down. Unfortunately it had been two years since he had anything this strong, and he ended up coughing and wheezing while Shado helpfully thumped his back (he was glad Slade doesn’t try to help, as he was strong enough right now to break Oliver’s spine by accident).

“Keep eating,” Shado urged. “You’ll regret drinking on an empty stomach.”

“I know, I know.”

Oliver slowly finished the plate, and drank another two glasses that Slade poured for him. As he finished, the alcohol had started to take effect. Either Slade spiked it (not impossible) or Oliver was much more of a lightweight than he used to be, because everything took on a fuzzy edge. He felt both lighter and heavier.

Slade pulled him to his feet and made him walk into the next room. It was a small bathroom with a tiny tub underneath a showerhead. Slade nudged him to sit on the edge of the tub, then knelt down to unlace Oliver’s muddy boots.

“What are you doing?” Oliver said. His tongue felt heavy; a combination of exhaustion and alcohol. Everything felt slightly unreal.

“Getting you cleaned up. You’re a mess.”

For someone on Mirakuru, Slade was surprisingly delicate about stripping Oliver’s clothes off, setting the various hidden knives and weapons to the side. He made him sit in the tub before turning on the shower and the burst of warm water on Oliver’s skin was nearly orgasmic. It was his first hot water in two years. While he sat, faintly stupefied by the heat, Slade scrubbed his back and shoulders, taking the time to inspect the bruises on his ribs and the dried blood in his hair. It couldn’t have been too serious, because he just grunted and started working soap through Oliver’s greasy hair. Oliver watched blood and dirt circle the drain from what felt like a very great distance. The body-wash smelled faintly of vanilla and almonds, which made him wonder why Ivo used such a girly scent. Maybe it was for Sara.

By the time they were done he’d sobered up enough to dry himself, even though Slade left the door open before leaving him alone. Oliver dressed himself in the loose clothes that Slade left for him – more cast-offs from the dead crew – and wandered out.

Shado and Slade were lying on the freshly made bed. Slade had his arms tucked behind his head, looking up at the ceiling. Shado had pillowed her head on his chest and was reading a book. She patted the empty space beside them.

“Come over here, Ollie.”

He flinched at that old nickname, but walked over and nestled into the space they left for him. The softness of a mattress nearly made him groan out loud as he sank into its embrace. Someone stroked the back of his neck.

“You still drunk, kid?” Slade said.  

“Little bit.”

“Go to sleep then,” Shado advised.

“In a minute.”

He must have dropped off immediately, because when he woke, it was dark and a lot of time seemed to have passed.

Someone stretched out in the dark, and a big warm hand settled in the middle of his back.

“Okay, kid?” Slade whispered.  

“Okay,” Oliver whispered. He wasn’t drunk anymore, his thoughts sharp and clear. The grief and guilt were no longer fuzzy distant things. If he stayed here trying to be still, he’d go mad.

He started to sit up, and Slade’s hand pressed down.

“Where are you going?”

“Bathroom,” Oliver lied.

“Come back here afterwards. If you can’t sleep we’ll help you, but if you try to leave I’ll kick your ass.”

Oliver grunted as the pressure relented, letting him up. He wove his way into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He took care of things and washed his hands before heading back to bed, resigning himself to a long sleepless night.

But no sooner as he settled onto the mattress than Slade reached for him. Oliver mumbled in vague confusion as Slade’s big hands traveled down his body like they were looking for something, vaguely reminiscent of how he’d checked for deeper bruising.

“What–”

“This will help you relax.”

Oliver wasn’t sure where Slade was going with this until Slade’s hand slipped under the waistband of his pants. He jerked upright – or started to, until Slade’s other hand kept him lying flat.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? Lie back and think of England.”

Slade’s matter-of-factness lulled Oliver’s protests; he was used to obeying Slade without question. He let himself be pushed flat as Slade straddled his knees. The added weight was a little disconcerting, as Oliver really didn’t like the vulnerability of having his legs pinned.

“Slade…” he said vaguely, as Slade tugged his boxers down. Oliver’s hands moved to cover himself and Slade peeled them away, pinning his wrists to the bed.

“Relax,” Slade said again, and Oliver had a split second to realise where this was going before Slade’s mouth wrapped around his –

Oliver made a wordless sound of surprise, hips jerking against the cage of Slade’s legs. For the record, surprise blow jobs are not always a good thing. Oliver wasn’t even hard yet, and it was weird and overly personal with someone who used to beat him with bamboo. He got a hand free and tugged at Slade’s hair, trying to indicate Oliver wasn’t really into this, but then Slade did something with his tongue that made Oliver’s toes curl.

What the hell, he thought wildly. They’d survived a deserted island and killed a bunch of people together. What’s an awkward blowjob between friends?

It was one of the stranger sexual experiences of Oliver’s life. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands or what the etiquette in this situation was. That Slade seemed to have a pretty good idea of what he wanted to do was clear, and it felt like Oliver was just along for the ride. When he finally started pushing his hips up – Slade holding him in place with no effort at all – Slade laughed (the quiver of sound making Oliver groan out loud) and left off.

“That’s better. I think you’re ready.”

“For what?” Oliver started to ask, and then Slade was shuffling back and a second, slim body was sliding over Oliver’s in the dark. That was Shado’s smell, her soft touch. Her clever fingers gripped him, her hips tilting, and there was that moment of fumbling to meet at the right angle, and that sweet moment when he was sliding inside her.

Oliver took deep breaths, trying to focus his mind and think of anything – trees, football scores, kitchen utensils – other than how good she felt clenched around him. She kissed the corner of his mouth.

“How are you doing?” She whispered.

“Great.” It was the honest truth and an absolute lie. Every second was using up his self-control. “I just – I don’t know how long I can hold on for.”

“As long as you like.” She punctuated it with a gentle roll of her hips. “This is about you.”

Pride would make him argue, but then she was starting a slow grind that had him gasping and grabbing at her waist like the only stable thing in the world. Slade’s fingertips slid across his throat, holding him down but leaving just enough space to breathe. It should have made him feel trapped, but actually made him feel weirdly secure. Slade and Shado won’t let anything happen to him. They always know exactly how far to push him, and it’s no surprise they know now in this arena. His toes curl, his body tensed and arcing…

Then Shado’s inner muscles clench about him, and he comes with a strangled gasp. The world falls away.

He came back slowly. He was trembling from the intensity of orgasm. Shado’s warm body left him and there was the sound of footsteps and running water. After a moment she returned with a warm cloth that she used to wipe them both down. He was barely awake enough to be helpful, wrung out and exhausted.

It occurred to him belatedly that he was the only one who got off.

“I could –” He touched the hem of her shirt and she smiled, shaking her head.

“Slade and I will help each other out. You close your eyes and get some rest.”

Oliver didn’t really want to – every etiquette he’s ever learned about girls says he should at least attempt to help her out – but she seemed certain and it seemed like too much trouble to argue. He let his eyes drift shut.

Half-asleep already, he felt Shado climb over him to Slade. The whisper of their clothing and the delicate sound of skin on skin slides into his dreams.

He’s at home – the old Queen mansion – and they’re stripping off their clothes to go skinny dipping in the pool. Laurel doesn’t want to because her sister drowned on the Amazo, but Tommy promises it’s perfectly safe.

“It’s just a pool,” he says, pulling off his shirt to reveal a lean, pale body. He and Laurel dive in and the blue water ripples with their passing. Oliver waits and waits but they never surface, and the water stills…

* * *

Oliver woke with a gasp. He was in the Amazo bed. Someone was warm against his side, hair tickling his face. It was dark and he wasn’t sure who it was until they moved, languorously shifting position.

“Bad dream?” Shado’s voice whispered.

“I don’t know.” Unsettling mostly, with the wrenching feeling of horrifying loss. “I can never go home again.” He didn’t know how true it was until he said the words.

“Why not?”

“I let Sara die.” There it was, the stark cold truth he had been grappling with this whole time. “I took her on the boat with me, I got her into this mess, and I let her die.”

“That wasn’t your fault, Ollie.”

“Don’t call me that.” It came out a little harsher than he meant it to, and Slade flicked his ear in remonstrance. But Ollie was his old self; weak, reckless, and blind to what he had. He can’t stand that name from Shado’s mouth.

“Oliver, then,” she said placidly. “It still wasn’t your fault. Ivo was going to kill us all anyway. Sara was just first.”

“It was still my choice.” He’ll never forget Ivo aiming the gun toward Shado and himself scrambling forward, throwing himself between them. Then the gunshot and his own voice screaming as he realised what he’d done –

“It was the right choice,” Slade said quietly, and just like that Oliver was no longer sleepy. He got out of bed and started looking for his shoes.

“Oliver,” Shado said. “Oliver, come back, he didn’t mean it like that…”

“Yes, he did.” Oliver could only find one of his shoes, and wasn’t expecting Slade to come up from behind.

“One hour is not enough sleep, kid.”

Oliver fought as Slade dragged him back to bed, which was even more humiliating than usual because Slade didn’t seem to even notice. Oliver kept struggling, trying to slip Slade’s grip and just managed to end up more or less sitting in the man’s lap, wrists pinned behind his back.

“She wasn’t a survivor,” Slade said in his ear, and moved quickly to avoid it when Oliver threw his head back, trying to break his nose. “She was good to last as long as she did, but when it came to the crunch, she wouldn’t have lasted.”

“You don’t know that!” Oliver’s voice broke. “She could have learned. We could have taught her!”

“And I would have.” The sincerity of Slade’s voice made Oliver stop struggling. Slade’s arm tucked around his waist, pulling him against Slade’s heat. “Just like I taught you. But I didn’t get the chance. You knew Shado was a survivor. You didn’t know if Sara could be. You did the best you could with the information at hand.”

Oliver’s face was wet and he was glad Slade can’t see him. He was so tired and Slade’s logic was so straightforward.

Was that what he’d been thinking? All he could remember was the surge of panic as Ivo aimed the gun at Shado.

He had curled in on himself as much as he can, trying to hide the tears, but Slade must have realised. A moment later, Oliver was laid out on the bed on his side (recovery position, a distant part of Oliver’s mind notes). His whole body was shaking and he was biting his lip, trying to hold it in – Slade hated girly shit like this – but for once Slade didn’t mock him. One hand was resting on Oliver’s neck like he was taking Oliver’s pulse. Shado was stroking his hair whispering that it’s okay, its okay, Oliver, you’re okay…

“Who wants to go back to Starling City anyway,” Slade said roughly. “That place is a shithole.” His hand didn’t leave Oliver’s neck, thumb stroking gentle circles over Oliver’s spine.

“Your home is with us now,” Shado said into Oliver’s hair. “We’re your home. The place is a little different, that’s all.”

The idea settled in Oliver’s mind, set out roots, took hold. Home. Safety. Love. Forgiveness. He could find all those things with Shado and Slade. They knew him as no one else ever would. They knew what he had done, and they forgave him. They knew what he had become, and they approved. They would never reject him, never look at him with horror and censure. They would fight to keep him, and they would always, always be there…

Slade kissed his forehead, a rough brush of unshaved bristles. 

"Go to sleep, kid. We've got you." 

Oliver's breath eased. He drifted off between them and this time he didn’t dream. 


End file.
